


Beneath the Bricks

by vamp_apologist



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Birmingham, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gang Violence, Gangs, Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, Illegal Activities, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25294177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vamp_apologist/pseuds/vamp_apologist
Summary: Vera Blake is running from her past. Nightmares haunt her sleep, chasing her from New York City to Small Heath, Birmingham, where she becomes a barmaid at a tiny pub called The Garrison. The dirty, corrupt city is no place for someone like Vera, but she's determined not to let anyone else know that.Thomas Shelby is steadily becoming a man of status, and he's used to getting what he wants. Haunted by his time fighting in France, he's become hardened and cares little for anything outside of business and family. When he finds Vera working in The Garrison, will he be able to resist the allure of a beautiful woman on the run?
Relationships: Thomas Shelby/Female OC
Kudos: 22





	1. Brick by Boring Brick

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Peaky Blinders fic! This is going to follow the show somewhat, but I've taken liberties, of course. This will be a mature fic with a decent bit of smut because, well...I'm a slut for Tommy Shelby. No shame.
> 
> And yeah, Vera's partially stolen Grace's early scenes in the show. Oops. Season 1 Grace absolutely grates my nerves, so I don't feel bad.
> 
> Always happy to interact with my lovely readers!

Small Heath was exactly the way Vera expected it to be – dirty, smelly, and poor. Black smoke billowed into the drizzly gray sky from every which way, and raindrops exploded on the muddy ground. "Here you go, ma'am," the gentleman said to her as he handed Vera her luggage from the train. She smiled at him in thanks, making her way off the platform and into the city. 

It was nothing like New York. It just so happened that Vera needed exactly that. Here, no one would know who she was. No one would notice her. Most importantly, no one would find her. She looked up at the sky from her covered position before opening up her umbrella and trudging through the mud to her lodging. No cabs would be available this time of night. The small revolver in Vera’s pocket warmed her hip through her coat. A small token of reassurance.

A woman was waiting outside the house, her clothes dark. Vera wondered if they were meant to be that way, or if they had been stained by the ashy air throughout their lifetime. The woman smiled as she unlocked the front door and handed Vera the keys. "This is one of the nicest homes in Small Heath, Miss Blake. Secure, and safe," she said, pointing at the window. "The Garrison is just a short walk's thataway, and it's under protection. Just don't go a-wandering in the middle of the night." Her accent was heavy, distorting familiar words in a way that Vera barely understood. She just nodded, saying nothing as she set her luggage down on the floor.

The woman, Mrs. Sully, paused. "I know you're not from around here, Miss Blake. There are some things you need to understand about Small Heath, being a pretty American woman on your own and all," she said carefully. Her face, not quite old and not quite young, was twisted with concern for the young girl. 

"I've been handling myself for some time, Mrs. Sully. I'm sure it'll be no different here than it was in America," Vera said. She appreciated the woman's advice, but it wasn't needed. She could take care of herself. "I don't scare easily."

She was met with pursed lips. "Of course, dear," Mrs. Sully said. "But there weren't organizations quite like this in America, of that I'm sure."

Vera raised her eyebrow. "Organizations? Do you mean the IRA?" She sighed. "I have no interest in the conflict between the Irish and the English, Mrs. Sully."

"No," She said quickly, shaking her head. "I mean the Peaky Blinders, Miss. They control this town. It'll be best if you get yourself a job at a bookstore or the like, and avoid the Shelby family, best you can." Her boots clicked on the wooden floors as she continued to walk about the room. The low light framed her face, and Vera thought she looked a bit like a bad fortune teller. She tried her best not to scoff.

A bookstore sounded nice. Comfortable. Vera had no use for being comfortable, though. Comfort brought nothing but trouble. Better to seek it out and stay on the sidelines best she could. "Thank you, Mrs. Sully. I'll keep that in mind." Their eyes met for just a moment. Vera knew Mrs. Sully thought her arrogant, but it didn't matter. Her confidence had been more than earned.

Moving on from her concern, the other woman began babbling about the house, showing Vera through the various rooms. It was dingy, with poor wallpaper and furniture fit for a funeral home, but it would do. A maid would come by twice a week to dust and scrub the floors. 

After Mrs. Sully left, Vera stood in the kitchen, making tea. She supposed she better get used to it - these English were obsessed with their teas. In the morning, she'd stock up on a few things, give herself a few days to decide where to work. Maybe she'd even make a friend or two.

__________________

Vera made her way down the now dry streets, dressed in green. The color of growth. That was what she wanted to do - to grow, to spread her wings. 

Naturally, The Garrison would be the best place to do that. The advertisement in the paper had nearly jumped off the paper she'd bought the day before, and the decision had been made before she'd finished reading it. 

It was mid-morning, and the pub would be empty. It loomed over her, barely blocking the morning sun from Vera's eyes. She stopped just outside the doors, hesitating a moment. Mrs. Sully's words hadn't left her head since that first time. Vera found herself glancing at the plainly dressed people walking past. There were few of them, all of their gaits purposeful, and she wondered if any of them were Peaky Blinders. 

Glancing down at her closed fists, she took a deep breath. The thought of an English gang terrified her. That's why she was at The Garrison, though. Vera wouldn't let anything scare her again, and the only way to toss those fears aside was to face them head on. She pushed through the doors as she exhaled, greeted only by the sunlight through the windows framing the wooden furniture.

“Hello?” She called out, confidence lacing her voice. She glanced around the pub. To her right was a door, likely leading to a private room. The rest of the place was open and bright.

“We’re closed,” came a voice from behind the bar. A tall man stood, wiping glasses. He eyed her carefully, distrust coming off him in waves.

“I’m here about the advertisement,” Vera smiled brightly. “I read you need a barmaid.”

The man scoffed, looking her up and down. “Are you mad?” He asked incredulously. “Haven’t you heard about this place?” He shook his head, focusing back on the glass in his hands. “Job’s been filled, anyways.”

“It was in the paper just yesterday,” Vera told him firmly. She wouldn’t be pushed around, and she wouldn’t be turned away.

“Pretty little thing like you wouldn’t last three days here,” the man said, not meeting her eyes. “Besides, haven’t got any need for an American in these parts. Especially not any nice American girls like you.” He glanced up at her face for just a moment. “They’ll have you up against a wall.”

Vera’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment she said nothing. “I’m not _nice_ ,” she said. Determination set in, more intense than before, and she began straightening the chairs and tables. A tune strung itself from her lips, and the man stopped his cleaning for a moment to watch her. She was a sight to behold, flitting around the room with the voice of an angel. In moments, the place looked as though it hadn’t been the victim of a bar fight just hours before.

The man cleared his throat and stepped out from behind the bar. “Well,” he sniffed, holding out his hand, “name’s Harry.” A small smile broke out on his face. "Still think you're too pretty, though."

“Vera Blake,” she said with a smile, firmly grasping his hand. “It’ll be a pleasure to work for you, Mr. Harry.”

He still eyed her with a bit of suspicion. “You’ll be here tomorrow night, then. Wear something more fitting of a barmaid, will ya?” Harry glanced down at her brightly colored dress. “Such colors aren’t well received in a place like Birmingham.”

Tomorrow. She nodded, nearly skipping on her way out of the pub. Harry’s eyes followed her small figure, and his heart filled with worry for the girl. She’d bring in more money, for sure, but he didn’t think she’d be prepared for the life of serving the men of the Blinders. They'd eat her up in a quick moment. It was clear she thought otherwise, though.

Harry hoped beyond hope that she’d prove him wrong.


	2. Where Did the Party Go?

When Vera had decided to leave New York, the world had seemed so incredibly big. Now that she was in Small Heath, it once again felt small and narrow. She couldn't decide whether or not that was a good thing.

Three days she'd been working at The Garrison. The usual trouble presented itself - bar fights, flirting, grabby hands. Vera easily did her job, and her cold stare seemed to fend the worst of them off. In truth, most of the men she dealt with at the pub were kind enough, working class people. They were just looking for release and relaxation after their long days, and Vera couldn't find it in herself to blame them. She'd found that many offered amusing conversation and insight, despite their rough looks and smelly clothing. So many of them seemed so gray.

Someone cleared their throat, and Vera turned away from rearranging the bottles to find a pretty woman sitting at the bar. It was still much too early for most to be at the pub on a weekday, and Vera didn't often see other women. She smiled. "What can I get for you?" She asked.

"Gin and tonic, thanks," she said. “More gin than tonic, though.” Vera grabbed the bottles and poured them into a glass directly on the bar. "You're not from England," the girl said, looking at the barmaid over the edge of her glass. "Strange for an American to be in Birmingham."

"My mother was from Birmingham,” Vera said. The lie rolled easily off her tongue. “She left when she was young.” She began wiping the bar down; it seemed dust settled quickly and easily here.

The other girl grinned, holding out her hand. “Ada Shelby,” she said. “What was her maiden name?” She asked, leaning back in her stool. _Shelby_ , Vera thought. Mrs. Sully had mentioned that name. She’d mentioned to avoid them.

“Her maiden name was Fox,” she said, considering the older woman’s words. She moved to start shining the glasses. “I’m Vera Blake, by the way.

“Can’t remember any Fox’s, sorry,” Ada said, taking another sip of her drink. “So she’s dead, then?”

The question caught Vera off guard. She glanced up from her task, catching Ada’s eyes. “Yes, she is. How’d you guess?”

Ada made a flitting motion with her hand. “Girl like you, coming to Birmingham? I can’t imagine you came here for the work, or the sights,” she took a deeper drink this time. “That means you must be here to feel closer to a dead family member.”

Vera glanced back down to the glass in her hand. It looked bigger than it should have in her small hands. “You’re very insightful, Miss Shelby. She’s been dead several years now.” Her mother’s passing wasn’t a kind memory. None of her memories were.

“Ada, please,” she laughed. “And I’m anything but insightful. Just ask my brothers,” She rolled her eyes. “They think I’m the dumbest Shelby, and they don’t even know I’ve been seeing Freddie.” Her words sounded bitter as she stared into her glass.

“Freddie?” Vera asked. The names were still new. She assumed he was another to avoid, if Mrs. Sully was to be heeded.

“Ah, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to talk to a newcomer. We don’t get many of you in Small Heath,” Ada set her empty glass down on the bar, and Vera moved to fill it again. “He’s a communist,” she whispered, giggling. Vera moved slowly, decidedly. “My brothers would kill him if they knew we’re seeing each other.”

She grabbed for the drink eagerly as Vera turned around. “My brothers will like you, though,” she downed the drink in one go, motioning for a third. “Arthur and John’ll be easy enough to deter, but Tommy,” she wagged her finger in the barmaid’s face, “He won’t be so easy. You’re just too pretty.”

It took a lot to bite her tongue, but Vera did anyways. It was good to be prepared, she supposed. She’d keep an ear out for Tommy’s name and avoid him as best as she could. Excitement and danger were all fine and good, but any true pursuit was completely out of her interest.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Ada,” she smiled. “I’m going to have to cut you off, though,” Vera gently plucked the empty glass from the other girl’s unsteady hands, “Before you drop this. It’s only three o’clock, sober up a bit and come back later tonight.”

“Ah, are you inviting me to come hang out with you? I’ve never been friends with an American,” Ada’s words ran together a bit as she stood up and wavered. “Harry!” She yelled, and the man appeared from the back room nearly immediately.

“Yes, Miss Ada?” He asked politely, but Vera could see the affection in his eyes. It was clear as a morning sky that he cared deeply for the Shelby family, even if he was also a little afraid of them.

Ada waved her hand and spun in a circle. “Miss Blake here is going to walk me home now. I take it you’ll be able to handle the pub yourself, eh?”

Harry smiled and nodded, going back to whatever it was he was doing in the back of the pub. Ada held out her arm as Vera made her way around the bar to link her arm with the other girl’s. She was much shorter than Ada, but the girl was still slight enough that helping her with the short walk home was no true difficulty.

“Here, here,” Ada giggled as they approached the door of a dark gray house. It towered over the two, casting a cool shadow across their faces. Ada knocked on the door in a rather dramatic fashion, receiving a small laugh from Vera as she grinned wildly. “Open up, Aunt Pol! It’s time for my afternoon nap!”

The heavy door swung open to reveal an older woman, thin and dressed in brighter colors than even Vera was accustomed to wearing. She was holding a cigarette, and the sound of children laughing permeated the room behind her. “Goodness, Ada, it’s not even half past three and you’re drunk out of your wits. What on earth has gotten into you?” she asked. Her dark eyes raked over Vera and she took a long drag of her cigarette as she ushered Ada inside. “And who might you be?”

“She’s my new best friend, Aunt Pol!” Ada yelled. She clung to Vera’s arm. “Can you imagine that? Me, friends with a pretty American!”

Vera smiled gently at the older woman. “I’m a new barmaid at the Garrison, ma’am. Miss Ada asked me to walk her home.”

Polly nodded, and Ada released Vera’s arm. “Thank you. We Shelby’s appreciate those who look after our own.”

With a nod and a smile, Vera turned to make her way back to The Garrison.

______

The pub was packed, far busier than it had been since Vera started. Men jostled about at the bar, calling her every which way to serve them drinks and flirt. Harry stood behind the bar with her, trying to keep up with the incessant demand for more.

They were all so loud, laughing and clinking their glasses. Vera turned to grab another bottle off the rack, and the room was suddenly quiet. She turned to see three men standing in The Garrison’s entryway, the first one smoking a cigarette and surveying the room. “You boys having a good time, eh?” He called, and the room erupted into cheers before returning to its usual chatter. Two of the men went into the private room, but the one who spoke approached the bar.

“Whiskey,” he said, blue eyes flicking to and from. Vera went to grab the regular whiskey from below the bar, but a hand on her forearm stopped her.

Harry leaned in. “He gets the good stuff and whatever else he wants, on the house.” Vera nodded, reaching for another bottle instead, pouring it into a glass.

“Long hair isn’t the style here, you know,” he told her, leaning on his elbow. “Not sure where it would be, actually.”

“It’s not the style anywhere. It’s just what I like.” This wasn’t casual flirting. Vera knew instinctively that he was pushing for information, analyzing every word and every move. He nodded, eyes making their way down her body.

“Are you a whore?” The question shocked her, and Vera felt rage building in her chest. She met his eyes with a cold look she knew she could be proud of, but it didn't seem to shake him. It didn't even seem to surprise him. He just stared, blinking slowly, hand open and waiting on the bar for his whiskey. 

“What difference does it make?” She all but spat at him, sliding his glass across the bar in disgust. He gave a small shrug as he took a drink, as though the conversation were completely normal. Clearly, her taking offense meant little to him.

“If you are, I’d like you to join me when you’re done here,” he said. He was so casual about it, and Vera’s blood boiled beneath her skin. "You're a pretty girl."

“No such luck,” she spat, and suddenly Harry was behind her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry, Tommy, she doesn’t quite know how it works around here. We’ll get her taught real nicely, I promise,” he said nervously. Tommy nodded and raised his glass before retreating to the private room with the men he arrived with. Harry spun Vera around, and his face was a mixture of fear and anger. “That’s Tommy Shelby, Vera!” He shook her just a bit, hands now on both shoulders. “You need to understand that if they want you, there isn’t a thing anyone else can do about it,” he glanced at the speakeasy to the private room. “Lucky for you, Tommy hasn’t done much wanting since he got back from France.”

Harry released her shoulders, but Vera still felt hot from her anger. Ada had warned her, but it didn’t change the fact that she’d wanted to slap that man silly for asking her such a question. It occurred to her, as she went back to her tasks, that he’d been hoping for a reaction. Everything about his body language said he was gathering information. Had he gotten the reaction he wanted? The one he expected?

 _Whore_. The word burned in ways none of these people would ever understand. She couldn’t shake it for the rest of the night. When Harry let her go for the night, her hand gripped the gun in her purse tightly as she thought about the trouble she might be in with this town.


End file.
